Heritage
by LadyToFu
Summary: The tale of a young serving girl in Valdemar. Finally, an update!!
1. Disclaimer

*~Disclaimer~*  
  
I do not own Valdemar or anything else created by Mercedes Lackey. This is because I am not Mercedes Lackey. If I were M. Lackey, I would be an extremely successful author, and this story would probably cost you somewhere between $6.99 and $25 (US, not Canada). Furthermore, I would not be going out of mind at school. As it is, this story is for non-profit entertainment purposes only. All the characters not created by Mercedes Lackey were created by me and therefore belong to me.  
Author's note:  
  
This was my very first fanfiction piece, however instead of finishing it, I kinda killed off the main character. Well, I recently decided to take it up and rewrite it. So, yes. You have seen this before, but it's not the same story.  
  
(^.^) 


	2. Another Day

*~ Chapter 1 ~*  
  
Shadowy figures surrounded Arialla as she struggled to rise. Held down by some unseen force, she felt pure bolts of agony shoot through her body. She screamed. Again and again she screamed, until only painful whimpers emerged from her raw throat.  
  
"Please, please… make it stop…" she begged the amorphous forms, tears pouring from her bloodshot eyes. "Please."  
  
"Shush," a silky voice whispered from amongst the shadows, "I promise my sweet, my love, my Vaishtel…it will stop soon…"  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The thudding of heavy boots jolted Arialla out of twisted, half-remembered dreams. A sense of foreboding filled the girl as those same hard boots began to prod her rather soft young body. Her fear proved to be well founded, as the owner of the boots, a great big bear of a man, began to methodically deliver sharp kicks to various areas of her prone form.  
  
"If ye don ger out o'bed, yer gonna get more o'da same." Growled the bear- man, brown eyes glinting in his pudgy face. "Ye eat my bread, ye'll work my tavern. All ye got ta do is ta keep da common room clean. Worthless slut that ye are, can't even do that right. Dirtier than yer backside it be right now. I want it clean, ye hear me gurl? Custom ta come in candlemarks, and ye still be snorin like a babe. CLEAN, or I'll tan yer hide good!"  
  
"Yes Jaemath." The girl replied meekly as the man continued to rant. Not daring to raise her eyes, for fear of another assault, Arialla struggled to get out of the small pallet and blanket that were her only possessions. This seemed to satisfy the man, who grunted and walked out of the room. Well, at least he would have walked out of the room, had Arialla been sleeping in a room. As it was, he walked out of a kitchen. It was quite a filthy kitchen at that, complete with rotting food littering the floor and various vermin skittering across the tabletops. Even the small stove Arialla slept near seemed to radiate filth, covered all over with layer upon layer of grease and soot.  
  
Huh, at least I don't have to clean up the kitchen, thought Arialla. The common room is bad enough. Only the common room indeed, the place is bigger than entire Pelagris. Ugh. Just as treacherous too, with all those stupid drunkards collapsing and getting sick everywhere.  
  
She really did not see the point in cleaning the common room so thoroughly every morning. After all, most of the customers would be too drunk to notice what the room looked like. Furthermore, between helping the cook, serving drinks, and cleaning, she never seemed to have enough hours in the day. But, there was no help for it. After attempting to dust some of the soot off herself, Arialla headed into the common room. Grabbing a broom from behind the bar, she began to steadily sweep the refuse out into the street. Finishing this task, she filled buckets with soapy water from the kitchen and knelt down to scrub at the more stubborn grime covering the wooden floor.  
  
The rich get to idle their time away. Street scum like me, we work. I just wish that there were more to my life than this inn. Maybe if I hadn't run away, Jansilay would have found a way to... What am I THINKING?? A sudden wave of revulsion interrupted her reverie, as she realized where her thoughts were headed. I will never, ever allow myself to be in a position like that. NEVER. Jansilay was a fool, a complete and utter fool.  
  
Arialla shuddered at the thought of her mother. Once wealthy, her mother had squandered her money on meaningless fribbles and entertainments. Then, she had discovered dust. Addicted to the brain-warping drug, her mother poured what remained of her fortunes into its pursuit. When nothing remained, Jansilay began to lure wealthy men to her bed with a simple plan in mind: their money in exchange for her body. And she had succeeded for a time. Her mother's ample charms, silky blonde locks, and exotic violet eyes enticed some of the most influential men of Haven.  
  
One night of passion, however, resulted in more than Jansilay had bargained for. It had been a Herald, Arialla later learned, intoxicated with alcohol: a handsome fellow that Jansilay had been fawning over for some time. Heralds were notoriously honor-bound, and Jansilay had meant to take full advantage of that fact. She had meant to trap the guilt-ridden Herald into some sort of arrangement, maybe even a marriage. But fate had been against her. The Herald rode off days later, before she could even tell him the extent to which his drunken passion had taken him. Then, of all things, he managed to get himself killed. Three months later, Jansilay found her belly getting larger and with no proof of paternity except a small, leather-bound book of ballads he had read to her from. Stricken at her future prospects and hoping to rid herself of the child, Jansilay dove even deeper into world of drugs, but to no avail. Whether by some miracle of the gods or another twist of elusive fate, Jansilay found herself with a healthy baby girl. A healthy baby but little money and no friends: her beauty permanently marred by all the drugs and alcohol she had imbibed.  
  
Eventually her wealth ran out all together, and Jansilay was forced to gather all her possessions, sell what she could, and move down to the very depths of Haven. Living among the beggars and thieves, she continued to do her dust, eating whatever Arialla (then a child of six) could steal. Then, at the age of eight, Arialla began to exhibit signs of future beauty.  
  
Then the "lessons" began. How could anyone do that to any child? I had no idea what was going on, at first. Arialla's eyes grew cold as she thought about what had happened in the next few years of her young life. Her mother began to teach her courtly manners, reading, and writing. That had been fine, for a time. Until those lessons turned to seduction, insinuation, and sex. The last straw had been when her mother apprenticed her to a former court prostitute. That had made Arialla realize what her mother was trying to do, and in a panic she ran away from the only home she had ever known. She wanted me to become what she was. She, who called herself my mother, wanted me to sell myself so she could get her precious dust. Never. I will never sleep my way into wealth and fortune. Not for me, and definitely not for HER.  
  
Alone and afraid, Arialla had run as fast and as far as she could with only a tattered old blanket, the infamous book of ballads, and the clothes on her back. Some how, she had made it all the way to a small town named, strangely enough, Hope. There, a kindly cook arranged for Arialla to be hired on by her employer Jaemath, the owner of Windrider's Rest.  
  
And here I've been ever since. Not that it's really a bad place to be. Especially when Ashna was here, but since last fall, its been getting worse and worse. The cook, Ashna Bakerschild, had been a loving and wonderful woman. The former cook for a Great House, Ashna had married a young farmer and moved to Hope in search of a better life. Her husband had died a few years back, and Ashna (not wanting to leave her new home) took a job at the local inn. A phenomenal chef, Ashna had taught Arialla everything she knew about the culinary arts. Unfortunately, her sister had died last winter of a terrible plague, and Ashna decided to move so she could help her brother- in-law raise his four daughters. Since then, business had been slow, and Jaemath had gotten subsequently grumpier.  
  
If only Jaemath would hire someone else to clean and serve. Then I could concentrate on cooking. Ashna taught me everything and I could be just as good. This place could be the same bustling inn again, not just the local tap room. Why people used to come in from Haven itself for our food! With that thought, Arialla gave a last scrub to the floor. If the rooms had been floored with marble instead of planks of wood, they would have glittering in the sunlight. The thought of the dingy little inn, shining in any way almost caused her to choke with laughter. With a sigh of satisfaction mingled with frustration, she picked up her buckets and headed back towards the kitchen. Another day was about to begin... 


	3. Beginnings

*~Chapter 2~*  
  
"The cold bitter nights give way,  
  
I believe in the hope of today.  
  
As all my fears are gone away,  
  
To the brilliant lights of day.  
  
Oh! It's a new day.  
  
It's a good day.  
  
It's a new day...."  
  
  
  
It might have been a new day, but it was not good.  
  
Whoever wrote that stupid ballad was a complete idiot, Arialla reflected.  
  
The day had grown steadily bleaker and colder. Perhaps the weather had been trying to warn them of what was to come. For the evening brought a new element to the little inn. It had brought fear. Five dark strangers had swaggered into the common room. Their hard eyes and arrogant postures had marked them as seasoned fighters. Jaemath had immediately sent Arialla to the kitchen. Ari was far from ugly, and Jaemath was no fool.  
  
Even scrubbing the floors was better than this, thought Arialla as she stirred a thick stew. An anxious silence had settled over the inn, punctuated only by the harsh voices of the five men. Slowly, the inn had emptied of customers, until only a few (too deep into their cups to move) remained. Arialla had been stirring stews and baking bread for hours. Although she normally adored cooking, the obviously pensive atmosphere made Ari restless. She wanted to be out of the kitchen, damn it!  
  
Suddenly, a great crash reverberated through the inn. Shouting soon followed, along with what sounded like the beginnings of a fight.  
  
If those toughs are going to try and start a ruckus, they're going to have to deal with me as well. Not that Jaemath'll need too much help, being a former mercenary and all, she thought with a smirk. Arialla grabbed a nearby broom and headed toward the common room, fully expecting to see a neatly beaten pile of brigands as she burst through the door.  
  
Instead, she walked in on a massacre.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Author's note: I wrote the verse at the beginning, with some inspiration from the Beatles' song "Yesterday."  
  
I realize that this is a really short chapter. But have no fear! There really is a reason for it! 


	4. Stirrings

"Eh, lass, get ye to da kitchen, quiet like, and stay there. I dunna want ye hangin about with the likes of these," whispered Jaemath, motioning Arialla to keep her head low behind the long bar that ran the length of one common room wall. A phlegmatic man by nature, Jaemath wasn't often given to flights of emotion--but a sinking feeling of fear had filled him the moment the strangers had descended on his bustling tavern.  
  
Fancy it be Foresight, he thought with a sense of wry humor. Hmph. Purty soon I'm goin ta start paradin round in front o'arrows like one o'em fool white coats. Even start bathin reg'lar like. Sherna's shoes, no wonder 'em lads die young, that much waterin can't be good fer no bit. Body just bain't built fer it. Funny...it always be da smallest bits o' fluff help ta keep a man thinkin.  
  
As the group of thugs settled themselves at a table, Jaemath switched from simple rumminations to deep observation. His sharp eyes didn't miss a beat: from the darkly sinister sneer on the face of a brown mountain of a man to the dexterity of a fighter tossing about an eating knife.  
  
Chatting with various customers before approaching the table of strangers gave Jaemath time to assess the strangers. Trained through years of hard battle, he felt confident that he could at least approximate the skill of most fighters. Six altogether, four looked fairly similar in their broad and burly builds. They were rather unremarkable: dark haired, sweaty, and scarred like every other merc he knew. In fact, they looked like they could have been any of the seasoned fighters Jaemath had served with during his last years with the 'Claws. Except that those mercs had been professionals, through and through. These lot had a wild look in their eyes that revealed a definite lack of discipline.  
  
The fifth, a brown man, would stand out in any crowd for sheer size alone-- towering over his four companions, even when sitting. However, the stranger was also the single most mono-colored person Jaemath had ever seen. Everything about him, from his hair to his hands, was a single shade of deep brown. Only his eyes, a startling green, stood out in sharp contrast. The effect would have made the man a strikingly handsome specimen, had he not been wearing a sneer more appropriate on a four-year old.  
  
Jaemath hadn't even noticed there was a sixth man at first glance. For the man, or more appropriately--the boy, couldn't have been more than twelve. Positively tiny compared to his compatriots, he had initially been hidden from Jaemath's veiw. With a liquid gold mop set atop a round face, with two huge Companion-blue eyes, the lad looked nothing short of a cherub come to life. Swathed in obviously expensive clothing, Jaemath had almost thought that the others had kidnapped the poor child. Almost. It was obvious to him that the others were paying the young boy a great deal of deference. Jaemath couldn't figure out why, until he took a closer look at the boy's eyes. The face might have been angelic, but a demon waited behind those so-innocent eyes. The cold malevolence in those depths shook Jaemath to the core like few things in his life ever had.  
  
They're an odd bunch ta be together, definitely be up to no good. he concluded as he began to walk toward the group. Suddenly, the boy turned to fix Jaemath with those disquieting eyes. Jaemath felt as if they bored through him--searching his soul--and knew without a doubt that this child was one who enjoyed causing pain, and had the power to do do so.  
  
"Eh. Evenin ta ye. Town rules be that no man kin carry more'n an eatin knife in any drinkin place, so I would be most appreciat'd if ye'd turn in yer weapons. I dun want no trouble, run a nice clean place here. Ye'll get 'em back whenever yer wanting ta leave." Jaemath almost winced in anticipation of the angry reactions, but the law was the law. If he was caught with armed people in his tavern, he could be permanently shut down. Besides, most of the villages in the area had similar regulations, so the demand couldn't have been new to the strangers.  
  
"Don't worry so much old man. Me and the lads aren't after any sort of trouble." Drawled the Angel in a youthful but silky voice. He looked around at each of his fellows in a jaunty fashion, titling his chair back and thunking exquisitely crafted leather boots on the table. "We just want to have a little fun is all."  
  
"An that be fine with me sirs. But the law says that ye need to give me yer weapons afore I can serve ye," replied Jaemath emphatically. By now, a couple of his custom had already started to trickle out, uncomfortable around the hardened newcomers. These hooligans were not good for business, but it would be courting trouble to try and kick them out.  
  
"Alright, alright. Take our weapons then." Capitulated the Angel, tossing a long knife onto the floor near Jaemath's feet. All but the brown man followed suit. With an exaggerated sigh, the young boy began to speak slowly and loudly to the brown man. "Hosh, food. Give...pointy... sticks...to...man."  
  
Hosh glared at the younger man, obviously annoyed. However, he threw down his weapons with a mummbled "m'lord."  
  
So the lad's a m'lord, hmm. Explains a lot. Meyhaps this won't be too bad a situation then. Spoiled lil brat I kin handle, thought Jaemath as he bent down to collect the weapons. There were quite a few pieces, and no few of them were well used. He would definitely have to be wary of this group when they got deep into their cups.  
  
"Since you have our weapons, bring us your finest foods. Ales for my lads and wine for me. GOOD wine."  
  
Little bugger's too young for ANY wine, if you asks me. To bad I dun know Papa M'lord. Would suggest a good strip to hide, mused Jaemath--outwardly he nodded and walked back toward the bar with the weapons. But who was he, a humble tavern owner, to say no to a lordling? 'Sides, if I give 'em what they be wantin, mebe they'll get their dammed ugly tales out of my tavern. 


	5. Massacre

Hours later, the lord and his company were still there.  
  
Damn pigs, eatin more'n an army, fumed Jaemath. And he had a right to fume. The lot of hooligans had consumed a good quantity of his best ales, and now were starting in on some harder drinks. Furthermore, they had been growing generally louder and more obnoxious. Jaemath's common room, once bustling with people, was now empty of everyone but a few die-hard drinkers.  
  
Kernos Eyes, they be cuttin my profits by two! With rest day a'commin an all, I should be packed full-up! M'Lord over there be owin me at least a gold chit is what!  
  
Suddenly, Hosh's massive form leapt up, overturning the lord's table with a great crash.  
  
"Hey! Tavern man, what are you starin at?" roared the brown man, his tone growing more petualant with every syllable. Intimidatingly, Hosh pushed toward the bar where Jaemath stood, swaying with the effects of alcohol. "I'm tired o' drinkin. I think maybe it's time to have some real fun. Come on Alec, err.. I mean m'lord, let's have some fun with this bunch."  
  
A half-smile began to twist around the Angel's face, making Jaemath's stomach knot and turn. He was a trained fighter, but so were at least four of the five men he would be facing. Slowly, he began to reach his arm under the bar for his sowrd. If he were armed, that should even the odds considerably.  
  
"Aww. I think the little man is trying to get at a weapon," mocked one of the lord's merc fighters.  
  
"How positively unoriginal," sneered the young lord, fixing Jaemath with a look that somehow made movement impossible. "Hosh grab the weapons. You four, get all the drunkards before they get away. I think we've intruded on this poor man long enough. We should really repay him for his kindness. After all, 'if only he knew my Papa M'Lord, he'd suggest I get a hiding.'"  
  
Jaemath paled at the voicing of his past thoughts. Unable to move and eyes wide with fear, he whispered, "mind-magic."  
  
"Oh! The idiot has at least half a brain. Well to bad it won't do him any good anymore. Hmm, kill those drinkers, starting with that filthy lout on the floor. Let the tavern keep " ordered Alec, as his men herded the few remaining tavern customers to the center of the common room. It was quite comical for a moment, swaying louts rushing toward equally unbalanced drunkards. Then the killing started. Long, sharp hidden knives were pulled from boots and the inside vests. Blood began to trickle, then cascade, onto the floors.  
  
Alec began to laugh as the red liquid splashed everywhere. A crazy light seemed to fill him, and he danced between puddles toward Hosh and Jaemath. Hosh returned a wicked looking knife to Alec, who's eyes started to burn with cold fire.  
  
"Now, I think, you and me are going to..."  
  
The rest of the young lordlings words were cut-off as a young woman burst in behind Jaemath, holding a broom as if it were a sword of finest metal.  
  
No! Jaemath's mind shouted. Ari was not a fighter, she was not going to stand a chance against these villians. They were going to kill him, then take her. Arialla, the pretty little girl with the beautiful smile. If they felt kind, they would kill her. The pretty little girl, they would kill HIS pretty little girl. If not....  
  
NO! I WILL NOT LET THAT HAPPEN!  
  
With a sudden burst of fierceness Jaemath broke free of his paralysis. Throwing himself at Alec, he managed to get a strong hold around the young lad's neck. The other men, confused by this sudden attack on their leader went still with shock before angrily swarming toward Jaemath--ignoring Arialla.  
  
"Run Ari, RUN! Dammit gurl, go!" shouted Jaemath as Hosh grabbed his legs out from under him.  
  
Looking around for a moment, understanding seemed to suddenly dawn on her. Darting around the bar, she rushed out the tavern door into the stillness of the night.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
. 


	6. Story's End?

Arialla ran until a numbing fog began to sweep through her body, clouding her mind. Thoughts, feelings, they were all behind her now. She was just too tired. Yet, she kept running. To stop meant death, she was certain of it. So she kept on going, until her body simply refused to move any longer. As her legs crumpled beneath her, the mist of shock clouding her mind lifted for a moment. Her mind wandered to all that had happened in so short a time, to her and to Jaemath. Mercifully, blessed darkness engulfed her as she recalled the death of her protector, her patron, and her only friend. She did not sense the powerful gathering of magics as the shadows merged together into a single sinister shape. Arialla never saw Alec's form materialize beside her, his hand clutching an intricately carved bone dagger, until it was too late.  
  
A slim arm, looking as soft and white as a courtesan's breast, snaked around her slumped body. It held her in a vise-like grip for all its seeming softness.  
  
"Vaishtel, trying to run away?" Alec whispered into her ear, a hint of amusement on his face. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair, drenched in sweat. His smile grew wider. "You know we have unfinished business, you and I."  
  
Alec brought his dagger up to Arialla's forehead, and began to delicately trace a figure through the moisture on her skin. A trail of greenish light glowed wherever the dagger's jagged point touched. "I'll make this a permanent one soon, my darling." He muttered quietly.  
  
A sudden crunching of leaves and sticks answered his whispers. Startled, Alec dropped his dagger. He sprang to his feet and turned just in time to see a white form begin charging toward him. A very large white form. Within seconds it would be upon him, he realized, his smile fading. He snatched up his dagger, moving his free hand in archaic gestures.  
  
The white form stopped abruptly as Alec's form melted back into the night. 


	7. Hope

:. Dammit .: Sent Rebun to his Herald, as he watched the young boy melt into the shadows of the night. :. That was him, wasn't it? .:  
  
"Probably," came the monotone reply. Herald Sen was a man of few words, all of them in a single curiously flat tone. However, he was one of the best investigative Heralds in Valdemar. Singularly brilliant, his keen mind locked away even the minutest details of the scene that lay before him. The girl, now prone on the forest floor, was a pretty creature. Pretty enough that Sen might have suspected a passion killing or rape, had he not seen the sickly green lines the young boy had been tracing onto the girl's forehead. He knew the symbol well. It was in an ancient tongue that almost all had forgotten, often used by mages for more archaic magics. Vaishtele. That was the nearest word the K'Leshya gryphons could translate it out too, the meaning couldn't even be guessed at.  
  
He did know one thing about that symbol though. It had been appearing on the foreheads of murdered young women all over Valdemar. The work of a bloodpath mage, to be exact. Or at least that was what the Valdemaren council and the members of the Heraldic Circle had decided. Sen and his Companion Rebun had been tracking this particular mage for well over a year. So far he had killed at least nine, the last one within the bounds of Haven itself.  
  
:. Bastard. I didn't think he would look so young. .: mumbled the Rebun into his Chosen's head. :. I would have charged sooner if I'd known. .:  
  
"Yup." Sen replied, kneeling over the young girl's body. He felt more than a tinge of guilt himself, having hesitated in loosing an arrow into the boy's back. Poor girl. He wondered what she would look like animated, smiling with her dark hair flowing. Her skin a creamy white, tinged even now with hints of pink. He was caught by that flushed pink tone of her skin, contemplating. Usually the victims were an unusually grey-blue tint, particularly prominent around the face. Perhaps.. . A flutter of hope gripped his heart as Sen bent down to place his hand under the girl's chin, lifting it gently to feel her pulse. It was there. A strong beat, for all that she seemed dead. On a closer examination, Sen could see the minute rise and fall of the girl's chest with each breath she took. "Rebun. Girl's alive."  
  
The Companion immediately perked his head up, nearly knocking Sen over in an attempt to look at the girl himself. :. By the gods. We did get here in time! She'll need a healer though. Can you get her on my back? Do you think it's safe to move her? .:  
  
"Don't know." The Herald gazed at her intently before seeming to look through her. Without a word, he leaned over and picked up the young woman in his arms. Rebun bent down so that Sen could place her in the saddle with relative ease, before sliding in behind her. He gripped her tightly as Rebun rose, making sure that she did not fall.  
  
:. Haven is fairly close. Might be a good idea to have some mind healers look her over. Particularly, if she was at that tavern a mark back. It was a slaughterhouse there. .:  
  
Sen simply grunted his consent, frowning in concentration. "We'll need Talia." 


	8. Talia

Arialla grimaced as the light hit her eyes. She didn't want to open them, so continued dozing, her mind wandering in those crevices between sleep and awakening. The angle was all wrong for morning, which meant that she had overslept. Jaemath would be angry at her. Besides, her pallet was so comfortable today, seeming almost springy and soft. She began to stretch out her arms.  
  
Wait a minute, she thought to her dream self. My pallet? Jaemath? Images rushed back to her. The young boy with the terrible smile. The sadistic band of men who had taken over Jaemath's tavern, painting the room with blood. Running. She remembered frantically running in the dark. The pain in her legs.  
  
That memory banished the last of sleep from her mind, causing Arialla's eyes to fly open with a start. Her whole body ached, especially her feet. Just thinking about them seemed to cause the pain to expand. They seemed to be on fire. Like the fire that had always burned in Jaemath's kitchen. Jaemath, who had been killed. As the fact of his death sank in, Arialla was bombarded by waves of loss and grief. She tried to hold the tears back as they leaked down her face. Her body hurt, but she could not control the sobs that rose in her.  
  
"Shh.. I know. Just cry." Crooned a gentle voice as two motherly arms wrapped around her. It was all too much for her. The very last barriers on Arialla's control broke, and she found herself wailing into the proffered shoulder.  
  
The fear she that had gripped her during the night, the sorrow over Jaemath's loss, the guilt that she could have not done more. The abandonment she had felt when Ashna had left. Even the old shame that she could be nothing more than the whore her mother had wanted her to be rose within Arialla. She found herself crying as she had never cried before, until her body simply could not sustain tears any longer.  
  
The arms stayed wrapped around her, rocking her gently: soothing her with silently shared grief. Arialla realized that for the first time since Ashna had left, she felt like she belonged somewhere, that someone truly cared. She reveled in the warmth, despite the sorrow that hung in heart.  
  
"W-where am I?" Arialla croaked out, shifting her weight slightly. The woman holding her released her, but still stayed comfortingly close. Looking up, Arialla was greeted by a pair of large caring brown eyes set in a worn heart-shaped face.  
  
"Haven. The Healer's Collegium, to be exact." Replied the woman.  
  
"Haven?!" Squawked Arialla, her eyes growing as wide despite their puffiness. Haven was the last place she wanted to be.  
  
"Yes. Herald Sen brought you here two days ago."  
  
"Herald?" That concept startled her beyond all bounds. A Herald: like her father. They were creatures of legend, even if her mother had bad-mouthed them. Even the worst sort admired their bravery and honor. They were beyond a nobody like her, especially in their almighty white uniforms. The ones that were supposed to be magic and never stained, even in the foulest mud. White like the clouds, like new lambs, the woman's shirt....  
  
Arialla suddenly realized that the woman sitting before her was clothed from head to toe in unadorned white. Heraldic white.  
  
"Child, you look as if a board hit you."  
  
"How..Why..But.."  
  
"Now, now. You are to stay here until you feel completely recovered. You've damaged your legs quite nicely, so the Healers will have nothing else." She smiled, giving Arialla a tired wink. Her smile seemed to engulf Arialla like a warm hug. A feeling of well-being pervaded Arialla and a wave of lassitude swept her limbs. "You look like you're about ready to fall asleep with your eyes open," the woman chuckled deeply. "My name is Talia, by the way. Just ask for me if you ever feel like talking."  
  
Talia, thought Arialla as sleep took her. Why does that name sound so familiar? 


	9. Shocking

"Well, she's taking things rather calmly." Said the brightly-clad Healer as she walked into the room. She had watched the interchange between the Queen's Own and her newest charge in absolute amazement that soon turned to suspicion. "You spelled her didn't you?"  
  
"I didn't spell her Mira." Talia sighed. "I induced an empathic loop on her memory. This child has been through so much already. The most I could get was that her life has been an absolute mess. Grief on grief. I would spare her any grief I could. As it is, she will remember everything when she is ready to handle it. Right now though, those memories could break her apart."  
  
The Healer Mira sighed. "I suppose you're right. Gods know, I'm no mind- healer. Well, physically she's not doing too badly. Her feet are a mess, but they should be better with a few days Healing. Has she got any family?"  
  
"Not that we've been able to find. Sen has been investigating the villages around the area she was in. As far as anyone could tell, she was a serving girl at The Windrider's Rest, and you've heard what happened there."  
  
Healer Mira looked at the sleeping girl with increased sympathy in her eyes. Everyone in Valdemar had heard of the massacre at that unfortunate tavern. In a town called Hope of all places. "Poor thing. So she's got nowhere to go?"  
  
"Actually, Sen proposed that we offer her a job as an assistant to Mero. You know how busy he's been with Gaytha and the new baby." Talia replied. She smiled as she thought of the chubby little infant whose conception had so shocked both parents.  
  
"Sen?" Mira raised an eyebrow in question. She had never known that particular Herald to suggest much of anything. Ever.  
  
"Yes, Sen." Chuckled Talia at Mira's disbelief. It had shocked half the Heraldic Circle into speechlessness as well, when he had made the request. In fact, most of them had been gaping like fish out of water as the normally silent Herald actually spoke. Even the redoubtable Herald-Captain Kerowyn had lost her dignity, looking remarkably like the proverbial stunned sheep. "It was just amazing. For a man who never says more than five words at a time, Herald Sen was remarkably eloquent."  
  
"Huh," was all the reply Talia got as Mira shook her head and walked right out the door. Talia's chuckle grew into a laugh. Murdering psychotic mages, magic storms, evil armies, traumatized children, and the aftermaths of countless daring missions Valdemar could handle. But a speech-making Sen? The world just wasn't ready. 


	10. Trouble?

Arialla found it almost impossible to move; heavy weights seemed to crush her. She struggled to move her immobile legs, first left, then right. Nothing helped. She felt like screaming. Arialla felt like screaming a lot these days. If she screamed, they would come to help her. She knew that now, and yet she could not muster the courage to utter even a single cry.  
  
"Ari. What are you doing?" A masculine voice asked from somewhere behind her. Arialla turned her head to see Mero laughing at his overzealous helper struggling to remain standing under the weight of not one, but three enormous bags of flour. "I know I asked you to get three bags of flour, but I didn't mean all at once."  
  
He deftly removed two of the three bags from Arialla's fast-slipping grip, continuing to laugh. Arialla sighed with relief as she was able to move with again with relative freedom. "I know, Mero. But I just wanted to get it up faster so I have more time to work on the pastries."  
  
She watched as Mero shook his head, and turned to walk up the stairs she had been working her way toward. Arialla was always surprised to see how physically strong such a gentle and compassionate man was. Not that she should have been really, a lot of the work in the kitchen took a lot of strength, and Mero wasn't exactly a small man. He turned as he reached the top of the stairs and called to ask Arialla if she was following him. His face was still plastered with an amused grin, but at least he had stopped laughing at her, she thought.  
  
"You really do love working on pastries don't you?" Asked Mero, as Arialla joined him at the top of the staircase minutes later.  
  
Arialla nodded in ascent. Ever since the incident months ago, she had been assigned to work in Mero's kitchen, helping to prepare the meals that Heralds and Heraldic trainees enjoyed daily. At first, she had been a shy, almost scared, helper. But the boisterous nature of the heraldic trainees serving alongside her, and Mero's constant kindness had put her at relative ease. Only relative though. The memories of her attack and the massacre at the tavern had returned to her as her mind and body healed. She was at peace in the kitchen, her kitchen, but everywhere else still made her jumpy. Actually, people in general made her uneasy.  
  
"Hmm. . . You know, with all the new trainees that have been requesting kitchen duty, there's no reason for you to have to help me with the main courses," mused Mero. Arialla caught a slyly amused look glimmer in his eyes. She didn't even suspect, but Mero certainly knew the reason for the surfeit of kitchen volunteers. The Heraldic population had always been predominantly male, and while the current female trainee population was pretty, none of them could compete with Mero's stunning new cook. "Why don't you work on pastries full time? The Heralds will certainly appreciate a constant stream of delectable desserts from your hands."  
  
The glowing look that Arialla bestowed on him was all the answer Mero needed. She couldn't wait to tell Sen. 


	11. Cream Puffs

Sorry my updates are taking so long. I promise I haven't forgotten about my fanfics, but I've just been super super super busy. I'll update all my stories as soon and as much as I can. It should be easier now that it's summer~ ( But enjoy this chapter for now. . . AND. . .Thank you to all my supportive reviewers, you guys are an inspiration!!  
  
*~Currently Known As Lady Tofu~*  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Hands shot out all around him as Sen ducked his head, partly to protect it from the onslaught but mostly to hide the grin that threatened to split his usually stoic face. His Arialla's newest culinary creations were an unprecedented success. Heralds and trainees alike were munching on second, third, and even fifth helpings. The servers couldn't get them out fast enough. What had she called them, he mused to himself. Puffs?  
  
A warning bell went off somewhere in Sen's mind as yet another server placed yet another plate of Arialla's puffs in front of Sen. All traces of a smile left Sen's lips. Why were they always putting it in front of him, he wanted to yell. Sen braced himself a mere two breaths before innumerable hands shot out once again to retrieve little pastry prizes. With a sigh, Sen joined in, albeit with far better manners. He was a senior Herald after all, and it wouldn't do for him to stuff himself silly. Like Herald Dirk, for instance, who was happily working his way through his eighth serving. Or Herald Skif, for that matter. And Herald Elspeth. . . Sen sighed again as he got up and confiscated the remaining pastries for himself. What was the point of decorum now, anyway?  
  
:.That's the spirit, Chosen. There's going to be a lot of new pants made this year. .:  
  
Sen grinned. Rebun was right, considering that they had all been eating like this since Arialla became the first pastry cook in Collegium history. Two weeks of nonstop goodies that made even the oldest among them drool like children. Sen snickered a little. Even the Companions were in love with his Arialla's treats.  
  
:. Yes we do, so bring me one too when you come out. .: Came the instant reply. :.YOUR Arialla is quite the cook. .:  
  
:. My? .: A blush crept over the Herald's face. Sen thought to himself of all the times that he and Arialla had sat together. The times when he had comforted her through her nightmares, the hours spent talking to one another. Well, for a while it had mostly been him talking, a distinct discomfort for a man who seldom talked. The effort had been worth it though, over the course of her recovery, Arialla had opened to him as she had not to anyone else. And he.he adored her. Well, everyone adored her. She was beautiful. Stunningly beautiful, really, and every hot blooded male (and not a few females) vied for her attentions. Sen. . .  
  
Admit it, Sen thought to himself in the deepest recesses of his mind, you love her.  
  
He knew he did. He felt it the moment their eyes met. She brought a sparkle into his life that he had never known. It was something else too. Something about her that made him at ease, like he had known her his entire life.  
  
:. So why don't you do anything about it, Sen? .: Rebun whispered.  
  
Sen grunted, knowing that Rebun would feel his reaction through their bond. :. Too old. .:  
  
Sen felt Rebun snort in return. He knew that his Companion thought he was being ridiculous, but Sen was firm on this. There was nearly a twenty year difference in their ages. By the gods, he could almost be her father! He would not pursue her. She deserved someone better, younger. . .  
  
:. If you're finished depressing yourself, how about we look over the murder from last night again? .: His Companion interrupted Sen's thoughts. :. The character on the back is similar to the Vaishtel, but not quite. It could have been a copycat, or . . . .:  
  
Yes, Sen thought as his Companion continued to go over the case, it was much better to concentrate on work. 


	12. In the Rain

The rain pounded the streets of Haven, leaving the smoothly worn pavement dark and slick. Here and there people ran from doorway to doorway trying to stay a bit drier as they ran their errands through the downpour. Few noticed the single small beggar-child huddled in the corner of a dark doorway, arms and legs hidden underneath a mass of sodden hair and faded cloth. She, on the other hand, noticed all of them.  
  
Cistra was no fool. She would never let cold and discomfort distract her. She knew that her fair hair and wide violet eyes marked her as a valuable commodity, and Cistra had no desire to end up in a child brothel. Again. It had taken her nearly two years to run away from the last. Longer to try and forget. Elven, the owners had named her, selling her again and again to men who ravished her tiny body. Cistra clutched her tattered rags closer to her body as a shiver raced down her spine, causing her body to tremble.  
  
She remembered being loved once, though. She remembered soft hands tucking her into a warm bed as the sweet scent of lilacs filled her nose. Her mother had always worn lilacs in her hair, "to match her eyes" Cistra had been told. Her mother had told her many things, most grown too fuzzy for Cistra to recall. Tales, mostly, of Heralds and those they loved. Cistra wondered if her mother had been thinking of Heralds when she hung herself. She certainly hadn't been thinking of her seven year old daughter. A tear ran down Cistra's face as her thoughts wandered back toward the day she had run into her mother's bedroom and looked up to see the dangling form.  
  
"You won't have to think of it anymore, Vaishtel," whispered a silky voice behind her.  
  
Cistra froze in panic as she suddenly felt empty air where the solid wood of the door had been pressing into her back. Almost instantly fear replaced the panic, and Cistra began to spring to her feet. But it was too late. She felt strong hands grab her arms and drag her through the door. Worse, she felt the strength run out of her, her body refusing to obey her will to struggle against her attacker. She could not even scream as her attacker dragged her further into the room, door mysteriously closing in front of her wide eyes.  
  
"Now, now, there's no need for that. This'll only take a minute," came the voice once again, this time muttering. Cistra felt her skin burn, green light surrounding her. "I promise my sweet, it will stop soon." 


End file.
